Infected By Sentimentality
by DobbyRocksSocks
Summary: It began with grudging respect. It turned into so much more than that.


**Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise.**

 **Part of my Mass Christmas(ish) Post - I hope you enjoy :P Have a very Merry Christmas (If you celebrate it. If not, have a lovely day!)**

* * *

 **Infected by Sentimentality**

* * *

It began with begrudging respect. Doctor Watson stood in front of him, his hands perfectly steady, and told him no. For Mycroft, that was a rather new experience. He didn't get told no very often. That he'd saved Sherlock by shooting the taxi driver was an added bonus. Mycroft was undeniably; though rather reluctantly, impressed.

He watched from a distance after that, keeping his eye on John Watson a little more than was probably necessary. He told himself that it was for his little brother's safety, but the denial sounded weak, even in his own head. Even with that logic, he refused to admit that John Watson held his attention more than should have been required.

Sentiment, after all, was a chemical defect.

It had no place in Mycroft's life.

* * *

"You've been busy, Doctor Watson."

John glanced up, unsurprised to see that the shadow cast over him was from Mycroft Holmes. He'd been waiting for this interruption for weeks.

"You have something to discuss with me, Mycroft?"

"May I join you?"

His eyebrow rose almost of it's own accord, before John nodded. He was a little confused that Mycroft had actually asked his permission. It was uncharacteristic, for certain.

"You've managed to, almost single-handedly, restore the respect and good name of Sherlock. Congratulations."

John snorted. "I gathered that was why you were here, Mycroft. Do spit out whatever it is you came to say."

"Are you in love with my brother, Doctor Watson?"

Rolling his eyes, John shook his head. "No. I'm not in love with Sherlock. However, the man was, is, my best friend. I couldn't just sit back and watch as his name was dragged through the mud."

"It's not like he'd care," Mycroft replied quietly.

"Perhaps not, but I do. Besides, it's done now. People know the truth. There's not much you can do about it, Mycroft."

"If I'd wanted to stop you, John, I could have done. You know that. I... I am concerned about you."

John frowned. "Why? I'm fine."

"Since the last of the work on clearing Sherlock's name, you've been regressing to your behaviour of just after the... event. You don't socialise, you barely speak to anybody in fact. You've stopped taking shifts at the practice. You spend your days wandering around this park. It is no way to live, John."

"You've been spying on me, again."

It wasn't a question. John should have expected it.

Mycroft smiled darkly. "You act as though I ever stopped."

"Might I ask why you're still spying on me?"

"You might, although it doesn't guarantee you an answer. Come, let us get coffee."

* * *

That began a tradition of sorts. Twice or three times a week, Mycroft would arrive out of the blue, and convince John to go for coffee. They didn't mention Sherlock often, in fact, half the time, they didn't talk. But... it helped. John began working again, he went to the pub occasionally, even began meeting up with Lestrade occasionally.

Mycroft was pleased with his progress, but the time was drawing ever nearer for Sherlock to make his reappearance. Moriarty's network was almost entirely destroyed, and Mycroft knew it was merely a matter of time. As happy as he could possibly be about the safe return of his little brother, Mycroft was also saddened by the knowledge that soon, John would have no need for him.

He cursed himself daily.

He'd known sentiment could do him no good.

Yet, he'd allowed himself to be infected by it anyway.

* * *

"How are you feeling?"

John shook his head. "I don't know. I'm angry. So fucking angry. But I'm relieved as well, because he's alive. I just... I can't look at him right now."

Mycroft sighed. "You'll have to face him sooner or later. You live in the same flat."

"You knew."

"Of course I did. It was the only way to keep Sherlock, and you, safe. We did what we had to do."

"You couldn't tell me?"

Mycroft could hear the hurt in John's voice and it made him wince inwardly. He'd known, as the two of them grew closer, that this would be the eventual outcome. He knew that John would believe Mycroft had betrayed him by withholding the knowledge that Sherlock was, in fact, alive.

"Not without putting you in more danger," he replied after a moments pause.

John nodded. There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment, before John broke it. "I punched him. When he turned up again, I mean. I feel like I should feel bad about it, but I don't."

Mycroft chuckled. "I have no doubt that he deserved at least that. I do believe he's sorry for hurting you though. As much as Sherlock is socially inept, I believe he... cares for you."

Sighing heavily, John nodded. "He's still my best friend."

"Then you know what to do."

John stood up from the park bench, before he hesitated. Turning slightly, he held out a hand to Mycroft, who took it, standing as well.

"Coffee first?" John offered, a small smile on his face.

Mycroft nodded. "I'd be delighted."

* * *

"What is going on between you and John?"

"Hello, Sherlock. Nice to see you too," Mycroft replied in a bored tone. He'd been expecting the invasion, knew that Sherlock would have worked it out.

"Answer the question, Mycroft," Sherlock snapped, his hands resting on Mycroft's desk.

"Nothing is going on that you need concern yourself with, Sherlock," Mycroft replied. "If that is all?"

"Oh. Ohhh. I see. Well, well, well."

"You can see I'm rather busy at the moment, if you could see yourself out."

Sherlock laughed delightedly. "Quite the conundrum, brother dearest. Impaled upon the thing you consistently warn me about. How is that chemical defect working out for you, Mycroft?"

"Sherlock."

"You have a thing for my blogger. Oh, this is precious."

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock held his hands up, a wide smile on his face. "I have something of interest for you, before I leave, brother."

"Hmm?"

"Yes... that sentimentality... I do believe it is reciprocated. Just thought I'd let you know."

Sherlock left the office, his laughter echoing down the hall. Mycroft sat back in his chair, tracing his lips with his finger. Reciprocation? That was... interesting.

* * *

Join me for dinner? MH

Sure. When? JW

An hour. I'll send a car. MH

* * *

Glad that he'd decided to wear a suit, John followed the waiter into the restaurant, glad that Mycroft was already waiting at the table. It was a surprisingly intimate setting, and John swallowed nervously as he was seated. Had Sherlock mentioned something to Mycroft about his unfortunate crush? Surely his best friend wouldn't be so cruel?

"I'm glad you could make it. This is much better than coffee dates, no?"

"Ahhh, sure," John replied.

"You seem nervous, is something the matter?"

"No. I'm fine."

Mycroft smirked. "I had a rather interesting conversation with Sherlock yesterday."

John felt bile rise and swallowed hard. "I'm going to kill him," he growled quietly.

"He was quite delighted to tell me that my rather unfortunate affliction of sentimentality was reciprocated. I found it most curious, John. Tell me, is my brother telling me the truth?"

"Reciprocated?"

"Hmm. Yes."

"Can't you deduce the answer?" John asked, tilting an eyebrow. "After all, you're the only person I know who can out-deduce Sherlock Holmes."

With a chuckle, Mycroft leant across the table slightly, taking John's hand in his own. "Your pulse is slightly elevated, your pupils dilated a little more than normal. Your cheeks are flush, and you appear to be feeling a little hot if the way you keep playing with your collar is anything to go by. _Tell me, John_. Is Sherlock correct?"

John cleared his throat. "Yes."

"Good. Now that the awkwardness is out of the way, we can share an enjoyable dinner."

* * *

"This isn't the way to Baker Street," John murmured, looking out of the car window. Mycroft had insisted on John sharing his car after their dinner, and John saw no reason to decline the offer. If he was honest with himself, he was rather hoping that this way, he would get a goodnight kiss.

"No, it's not," Mycroft confirmed, stroking John's hand with his thumb. "We are going to my home."

"Oh?"

"Quite. I'm not ready to be parted from you, John, I hope you don't mind?"

"Mycroft... what is this about? I'm... rather confused as to your motive."

Nodding his head slightly, Mycroft met John's eyes. "We've known each other for rather a long time now, John. From our very first meeting, you've intrigued and impressed me. It started with... respect. I admired your loyalty to Sherlock, and your bravery when facing me. Since then, I've watched you more closely that I believe you realise, and every time I observe something new about you, it added to the depth of respect. At first, I thought I desired your friendship. The day I asked you to join me for coffee, the first time I mean, I realised that it was... more.

"I am not a sentimental man, John. You are well aware of that. But you... I am not sure what it is about you, but you've burrowed yourself beneath every last one of my barriers and worked your way into my... everything. My motive... that is not an easy question to answer. I wish for you to... I want... I want you, John. In whatever capacity you will allow me in your life, I want you."

John knew how much it must have cost for Mycroft to admit that, and he was appreciative of the effort the secretive man was putting forward. He squeezed Mycroft's hand.

"I want you too. The rest... it's just gravy. We'll work it out."


End file.
